


a question of trust

by Murf1307



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Body Horror, Canonical Character Death, Fix-It, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-27
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2018-03-09 06:46:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3240173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Murf1307/pseuds/Murf1307
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Armando trusts Alex, and Alex trusts Armando.  It gets Armando killed, but it might just save him, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a question of trust

**Author's Note:**

> written for this tumblr prompt: "I want you to stop what your doing and write a short fanfic of your OTP, (Angst, Fluffy, anything you want) then send it to 5 people whose writing you love. A quick way to spread love and more fanfics written for those who ran out. :D"

It doesn't make sense.  That's the thing that keeps cutting at the edges of Armando's brain.  It doesn't make sense that he trusts this kid, and this kid trusts him.  They've known each other a month, maybe, tops, and Alex Summers barely ever talks and even more rarely breaks out those powers of his.    
  
But they gravitate toward each other, barely even having to eye each other any before they both decide something.  
  
The thing that really kicks it, though, is how Alex _defers_.  He follows, like Armando's got some kind of power over him.  It's not a feeling Armando's ever had, and he's concerned and feels bad that he kind of likes it.  
  
What it comes down to, though, is his hand on Alex's gut, Alex's eyes meeting his over the heads of the others before he decides to make a break to help the humans trying to protect them, his hand curling into Alex's hip as they come up with the plan.  It comes down to Alex's face relaxing from hurt and betrayal back down to a steady, steady look back.  Something willing to trust, willing to fight just because he says so.  
  
Armando hates that he's asking him to do this, to murder Shaw and his lackeys, because really, that's what this is.  It's a slick spill of oil down the back of his throat as he tells Shaw 'adapt to survive,' needling behind his ribs as he calls Alex's name.  
  
And then it all goes wrong, because Shaw can do something unbelievable.  
  
Neither of them can fight him on this, when he can just ball up Alex's hoops like they're nothing.  Armando's arm vibrates like a gong when he throws a last desperate punch.  
  
"Adapt to this," Shaw says, his hand forcing Armando's mouth open, and God, this is a familiar kind of hot hatred he's feeling now, even as Shaw forces Alex's energy down his throat.  This is a familiar hate, and if Armando could move, he'd keep fighting anyway.  
  
But there's a supernova building in his chest, and his body's going still to try and fight it off instead.  
  
Then Shaw, his lackeys, and Angel are gone, leaving him to shuffle-suffer through his body trying to adapt.  He can't breathe, but it's not something gills can fix.  He's burning up from the inside, and he can feel that it's Alex's energy, that pretty red plasma.  
  
He meets Alex's eyes and realizes that this is worse.  This is worse than asking this boy to kill on his command.  He reaches out for him, silently trying to tell him _run, kid, I'm sorry._  
  
And then?  
  
Everything burns, and if this is dying, it hurts more than he imagined it might.  


* * *

  
He wakes up in the rubble of the courtyard where he died, and even now, he's not exactly solid.  The place is deserted, and he's not sure how long he's been out for.  
  
At least he's not naked, he notices.  That would make this even rougher to navigate.  
  
He finds his way out to the parking lot, and his cab's still there, mangled though.  Not any use.  He crawls into the front seat to try and get his stuff from the glove box, but his license is gone.  He curses a string of words and then crawls back out.  
  
Something itches behind his breastbone, burns a little.  Some of Alex, he realizes.  Somehow.    
  
He feels warmed by that, and sets out to follow that burning back to wherever the others have gone.  


* * *

  
It's not so easy, to be honest.  He's not all the way solid all the time, yet.  He's alive enough to pull himself together, but he can't sleep, has trouble eating.  His body's always on, always adapting, because that little leftover burn keeps trying to kill him.  It wants to get back to Alex as much as Armando does.  
  
Armando's not sure if he's gonna make it -- he almost drops, twice, in Manhattan alleyways in the middle of the night, curled against a brick wall, but he's determined.  
  
He's got something of Alex's, and he thinks Alex might have something of his, if the missing license means what he thinks it might.  
  
He passes through Manhattan with bloodshot eyes, hand pressing to his chest.  
  
He's close, he's sure.  


* * *

  
Xavier has a mansion.  Of _course_  Xavier has a mansion.  
  
Armando makes it up the steps and his chest is outright _glowing,_ under the coat he'd boat with his last dollar in Manhattan.  He leans against the door and knocks.  
  
The night is dark and muggy with heat, and his chest is burning.  He's having trouble breathing, trouble keeping himself solid.  Alex's plasma is eating him alive again, but it lead him here and he needs, he _needs_  to give it back.  
  
Lehnsherr's the one who opens the door.  "Darwin?" he asks.  
  
"Get me Alex," Armando tells him, level as he can.  "Just get Alex."  
  
Lehnsherr nods and helps him inside before departing, searching for Alex.  Armando leans against the wall and drops the coat.  His chest is burning and he feels like a furnace, and he's hitchhiked and walked amd ridden trains all the way from Virginia to get here, and he's _not_  gonna fall apart before he can give this back to Alex.  
  
Alex comes.  And God, he looks _terrified_.   
  
" _Ven aqui_ ," Armando manages, slipping into Spanish because the closer Alex is the hotter he burns and he won't last much longer.    
  
"Darwin?  You're --" Alex shakes his head and comes closer, because he knows, of course he does, somehow, that this will work.  
  
Somehow, Alex still trusts him.  
  
Alex comes to the wall, presses his hand to Armando's chest and tips their foreheads together, eyes screwing shut.  
  
Everything burns again, but this time Alex is here with him, absorbing the burn, taking the edge off, and together, together they make it stop.  Alex is crying and his tears evaporate and steam when they hit Armando's skin, and Armando buries a hand in his hair.  
  
"You _died_ ," Alex says, thickly.  
  
"Not quite," Armando murmurs back.  "And then I came back."  
  
Alex grins, then, laughing a little.  "Yeah.  You did."  
  
It's the easiest thing in the world, then, to lean in and kiss him, despite every good reason to wait, to hold back.  
  
After all, they've already seen the worst, and here, now, they've beaten it. 


End file.
